Sing Me a Memory, Tell Me a Tale
by Spellshadow98
Summary: Silwen. Severus. Eilonwy. Dumbledore. Hogwarts? Yes. Sadness? Most likely. Funnies? Definitely. Chronological? Almost never. Warning: Self-serving OC (meaning I selfishly created her).
1. Year One

Author's Note:

Hi thanks for reading! :D I love you and think you're awesome for doing so!...So, this is a "one timer" of what I hope to be a little bit of random scenes from Silwen's life, in which each one will be short and a one timer.

Note: Silwen is Severus Snape's niece, and in Hogwarts she goes by the name of "Silwen Prince" so that the students do not know who here family is. She's an orphan, her parents died when she was four, and from then on lived with "Uncle Snape". Ummm, when she was three, she almost drowned in a large cauldron of Veritaserum. She is ten years old, and a first year at Hogwarts. Her magic ability (at the age of ten) equates that of a fifth/sixth year because Snape started to teach her magic when she was only five.

I'd love to know your opinion on this, and if you like it, I have more of Silwen stories located on my profile. These take place when she's a bit older (16/17).

* * *

"So, word for word, what did you write in your Potions and Charms essays?" Draco's lips curled triumphantly. Green eyes glaring vindictively at him, Silwen had no choice but to open her mouth to tell Draco what she had written. Word for word.

It was very recently that Draco had discovered what exactly had happened to Silwen when she was three, and now he planned to take full advantage of it and copy her homework as she dictated to him her answers. "Thank you, _Silly_," he smirked, gathering his papers when she had finished speaking. "Now, for Transfiguration and Astronomy, word for word, what did you write?" he asked, his smirk growing larger. Soon, Silwen hoped it would crack his mouth, or remain permanent. Idiotic prick. Yet, after each time he did this, Draco erased the memory of it ever happening from Silwen's mind. He liked the delicious secret of knowing that he had power over her without her knowledge, and that when the teachers questioned her, Silwen could not give him away. To Draco, this was like a perfect, fresh, strawberry tart that kept on regenerating after each bite–without even knowing it had.

The year continued on like that, until Draco grew bored and blackmailed Silwen, threatening to tell the school her secret–the secret of her family–if she didn't 'help' him. When done that way, Silwen immediately tipped off the Professors by writing Draco's essay herself and adding things only she would know. Even before this, the teachers had long since realized some of what was going on, but Severus advised them to wait until Silwen was ready to come out of her fear and _do_ something about it on her own. Draco realizing that his cover had blown, quickly modified Silwen's memories so that all of her memories seemed to be more like the last one–blackmail instead of down right dictation. He realized that if Snape caught on to his knowledge of Silwen's...malady, he would be severely treated.

Many teachers acted furious when Silwen confessed to it-shockingly, rather willingly and gratefully. "Why didn't you say something sooner?" or, "Didn't it occur to you that you could have saved yourself a lot of anxiety if you had confessed when it started?" to which she replied nervously, "I was scared. I'm only 10."


	2. Year Five

Where your loyalties Lie

"Miss Snape, what are you doing here? I have heard no sign of bullying, no discrepancies of any other matter, and yet here you sit before me," chuckled Dumbledore.

Abashed, Silwen looked at the desk. "'_Miss Snape_'? _Sir_, why address me so? We are alone, are we not? ... I-I hexed a student," her blush turned rosy, not meeting the headmaster's eyes.

Dumbledore let out a sigh. "Silwen. Not again. Did your uncle send you up here?"

"No, Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall did. She would have dealt with me but...a group of third years set her off and she was too busy yelling at them to yell...at me..."

Chuckling, the old man asked, "What happened?"

"Oh the twins set off...something vile in Filch's classroom again."

"No no, I meant with you. Tell me, what caused you to hex someone?"

Boldly, Silwen looked at her former nanny, now whom she called headmaster and "sir" around others. "They were talking about my uncle. Calling him evil, backstabbing, Dark Lord's servant, blaming him for the rise of the Dark Lord when it was Potter's fault!"

"Silwen Snape!" admonished Dumbledore sharply, rising from his seat. "Do not talk accuse Harry. It is most certainly _not_ his fault."

"If Harry hadn't been in the graveyard two years ago, the Dark Lord wouldn't have risen."

"There may be a time in your life where you will have to trust him with everything you have. Both of you are on the same side, fighting for the same cause and you must learn to trust each other."

"Precious Potter. He insults my uncle and you let it slide, so does McGonagall, and I'm here because I hexed someone defending him!"she said rising to her feet as well.

"Harry and I have talked about Professor Snape, Silwen. And I have urged him to start trusting Snape and have asked him to be more respectful. Next time I see him," responded Dumbledore, chiding her. "Sit down, Silwen and have a glass of water." He flicked his wand at the desk and a twinkling glass stood in front of her on the desk. "Now, let us go on with your misdemeanor." Dumbledore sat down again and prodded Silwen to continue, "Harry was talking about Snape, presumeably with Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. And?"

"And I-I hexed him. I used a particularly nasty bat bogey hex on him and Weasley. I didn't let it touch Granger though. ... She was trying to reason with them." Pleadingly, she looked at Dumbledore. "Please don't give me a detention. Please. Un-Professor Snape will not...be pleased with me if I land myself in detention."

Dumbledore eyed her semi-gravely, semi-amused. "And if not detention, what punishment do you propose?"

Hopefully, her eyes bright she proposed, "Kitchen duty for a week every day for two hours?"

Humor sparkled in his eyes as he responded, smiling, "Punishments aren't meant to be enjoyed. If I give you kitchen duty, you must be prepared to do the less amusing tasks there."

With relief in her own eyes, she nodded and stood, about to leave.

"Sit down, I'm not quite finished, young lady."

Obediently, Silwen sat in the chair.

"You can't hex all the students in the school when they gossip about your uncle. Nor the teachers. When someone insults him, you have to learn to ignore it. Understood?"

Head bent slightly in resignation, she said, "Yes Professor. But what if they talk about you?"

Firmly, Dumbledore said, "You must ignore that as well. Now, you may leave unless there's anything you wish to tell me."

Her face hesitant, she sipped her water and said, "I-there's...something strange about me, isn't there? I-I mean more than the average student..."

Dumbledore's eyes grew sad. He nodded, saying, "You are right. But it isn't my place to tell you, child. Ask your uncle. Tell him I told you it's time you knew."

"Yes, Dumbbie," murmured Silwen, using the name she called Dumbledore as a young child, pushing out her chair and exiting. "Thank you, Professor. For everything. Er, how is your hand?"

Smiling again, Dumbledore responded, "It's dead, but the potion your uncle supplies is keeping it at bay. Go on, Silwen, you still have classes and right after them you have kitchen duty."

"Good bye, Professor," she said, closing the door with a soft thud.


	3. Heidi

A/N: So, for a few days or so, TDBBL&F, my current work, is going to take a break so I can come back to it afresh. For now, I'm putting up bits and pieces of Silwen's past. Thank you for your consideration.

* * *

July, 1985

Knock, knock, knock, tap! A tall, dark-haired man rose from his comfortable seat in front of the fireplace and went irritably over to the door.

"Mr. Snape, I presume? My name is Horace Effigy." A flashy-robed ministry official stood in front of him in a sleek, shining hat with matching forest-green robes and black leather boots. A small part of the official's robes twitched in a corner. Clearing his throat, the man continued speaking. The twitching had stopped. "Do you mind if I stepped in? I have other pressing matters to attend to and I haven't any time to waste."

Mr. Snape nodded and let the man enter his small parlor. Clinging to the stranger's robes in the back was a small shadow that could not have been more than four years old with peering green eyes. Eyes that Severus recognized instantly. The official sat down in the hard chair Snape had offered him and put the little shadow on his lap. Now, the little figure grabbed onto the front of the official, hiding from Snape in her thick waves of black hair.

"I am very sorry to inform you of this, Mr. Snape," the man began.

Eyes narrowing, Snape sat rigidly in his chair, waiting for him to go on.

"There's been a terrible accident. Your brother, Timothy and his wife Priscilla have passed away this morning."

"What?" demanded Snape, rising to his feet. "If this is your idea of a hoax, then get of my premises before I force you off them."

Startled, Mr. Effigy said, "No, no, I regret to say I am telling the truth." He sighed deeply and pressed on. "They were brewing potions together, too close in proximity. One boiled over into the other, and-" the official stopped, put the little figure on the ground then resumed in a low voice, "When the potions mixed, they were both caught in the reaction and were instantly incinerated. The little one saw it from the corner she was playing in. She's alive because a customer who had come to pick up a Shrinking potion heard the girl's cries from above and rushed her out of the house before-before the second explosion blew up the house. The Obliviators at the scene decided that somehow, both of the cauldrons spilled again, this time onto the floor, with more coming out."

In his chair, Snape shut his eyes. How many times had he told Timothy off for brewing two potions so closely together? How many times when visiting had he purposely conspicuously pushed his brother's and Priscilla's potions farther apart? Apparently, not enough. Severus glanced at the little girl on the floor. More quiet than a frightened mouse, she lay curled into a ball. This child no longer had anyone. Silwen. Silwen Snape. A name he hadn't stopped thinking about ever since the accident. A name that he hadn't heard spoken since then too. Had it only been one year since it happened? Somehow, it felt like time went by faster than that.

"They left a will," Mr. Effigy said quietly. He leaned forward, a parchment in hand and began to read part of it.

"'_If anything should happen to us, we give the guardianship of Silwen over to Severus Snape, brother to Timothy Snape, along with all our possessions and earnings kept in Gringott's Bank. To Severus we ask that you don't tell our daughter about her predicament until she is sixteen years old. She doesn't know anything is wrong or different about her._"'

Severus' eyes turned glassy, but when the official looked at him, the glassy look shattered. A quick finger rose to his eye then immediately dropped back to his lap. "Was anything salvageable?" he asked.

"No. Only the clothes on her back and the gold in Gringott's. Now, Mr. Snape, I need you to sign these documents showing that you are her new guardian and then I must leave." Handing Severus the parchment and a quill, the official watched Severus take them then kneel down to the girl on the floor.

"Silwen. Silwen look at me," said Snape rougher than he'd intended to. Reproachful eyes looked up at him, waiting. Snape continued. "Your parents are gone. And this man says you are to live with me. Do you understand?" The eyes welled up with tears and she started to cry, but nodded in response to his question. Brusquely, Snape wiped off Silwen's tears then he asked, "Do you remember me? Uncle Snape?" Severus had to know that his brother didn't wipe the girl's memory of him as well as the accident. To his slight surprise, Silwen nodded solemnly, no new tears on her face or in her eyes. "Do you want to stay here and live with me?"

"Mr. Snape, she's a child," admonished Mr. Effigy, "she cannot be expected to know-" began the official, but Snape held up a hand and Mr. Effigy stopped mid sentence.

Cautiously, Silwen looked at Severus, her eyes alert. Then, as if it was the biggest thing to do in the world, she nodded up and down. Her little hand rose and grabbed on to Snape's, not letting go. Inwardly cursing, Snape didn't pull away. He didn't want her crying again. Rising to the chair, he picked up the quill. With his free hand, he signed the parchment, walked the ministry worker to the door and closed it after the man had bid him good night. For the first time, Snape inspected the child. Thankfully, it looked like she had no broken bones or cuts or gashes. Good, one less thing to worry about. Her green eyes looked up at him in curiosity and a memory of Lilly flashed at him.

They were ten, almost eleven. "Look, Lilly, look what you can do with magic," he'd said to her and made little sticks do a jig on the ground around them. Lilly's eyes had that same look to them that Silwen had; bright and curious. Shaking his head, he got rid of the memory and asked the girl, "Are you hungry, Silwen?"

She nodded. Leading her into the kitchen, Snape had her sit down on a chair, carefully loosed his hand from her steely fingers and mechanically Summoned bread, a knife, and butter. He cut off two slices, dabbed on some butter then handed her the pieces. While Silwen ate, he reflected about the will. They seemed to forgive him. Why else would they put him as godfather? It had been little more than a year since Timothy had contacted him. Had seen him. Ever since the accident, Timothy broke off contact, thinking it would be best. Hardly even an owl had come. And now, he was expected to raise their child? Fine. If that's what they wished.

Silwen's chair creaking, Snape instinctively looked at her almost telling her off for making noise as if she was a student of his. But she wasn't. She was his niece. Who now lived with him. "Are you done?" he asked. Nod. The pieces were both half-finished. "Do want something to drink?" Nod. He Summoned a cup, then pointed his wand into it and muttered, "_Aquamentis_!" The cup filled and he slid it over to her, noting the deep fascination in her eyes when he preformed magic in front of her. The cup was forgotten and her eyes were mesmerized by his wand. "Drink," he said, snapping her out of her fixation. Obediently, she drank until the glass, too was half-gone.

Rarely had he seen a student's eyes spark with so much interest. Even his brightest pupils' pupils hadn't shown that much. _I'll see what I can do to keep that interest flared_, he thought_, teaching her early, perhaps._

Splash! The cup had spilled over, and water had landed everywhere, including on him. Silwen had fallen into a fitful sleep, her elbow knocking the the cup. She needed somewhere to sleep. And the couch wouldn't do; the parlor got drafty in the night. The spare room would; no one was in it.

Discreetly, he picked her up, carried her into the room, and put her inside the bed, under the covers. It was a small room but would make do as there was nowhere else. For a minute, he watched her sleep then left.

He did not want a child. He didn't know how to take care of a child. Yet he had little choice and he certainly wasn't going to let a Snape into a muggle orphanage. He'd manage. Next year, he'd start teaching her basic spellwork and see how quickly she learned. And for her sake, she'd better be a quick learner or he'd stop teaching. A child. Snape still couldn't fathom that he was going to raise one. A child on Spinner's End. How interesting.


	4. Measuring Up

Author's Note: Hi everyone! Thank you, thank you, _thank you_, all of you for your gracious reviews! You've made my fingers soar in excitement, knowing that what they type up is wanted and liked! Thank you for the critique on chapter one, for those of you who did so, I really really appreciate it! ...Chapter 1 needs lots of work. ... Lots.

All right, one thing about the chapter below. In this chapter, Silwen gets her wand as a five year old. Yes, as a five-year old. Snape visited Lucius Malfoy, who asked Fudge about it and then Fudge talked to Mafalda Hopkirk, and she decided to let Snape teach Silwen magic at a young age. It did take quite a few months to do so though. ... If you are interested in Silwen's wand, please send me a PM or question in a review. I chose her wand specifically for her through what was written on Pottermore. ;D

Anyway, I have two questions for you:

1. Is there any moment in particular you wish to see in this drabble?

2. (I won't answer this one. Ever.) I'm just curious to see how old you think I am...Care to guess even though I won't tell? ( You don't have to.)

* * *

July, 1986

"Uncle Snape! Uncle Snape! Uncle Snape! Can we go? Please?" Silwen's voice emulated the very being of excitement.

"Silwen, you musn't pester Master so!" chided Lucie, the Snape family house elf.

"Sorry for pestering, Uncle...Can we go yet?"

Wearily, Severus listened to the little fist pounding on his bedroom door, hammering quicker than a hummingbird's heartbeat. "Quiet," he warned through the door. Silence. It was as if a small tornado had died down to a breeze. Snape sometimes missed the days when Silwen had just arrived; for the first two weeks, she hadn't said anything. Fear had locked away her words and all he got in response to his questions were nods, shakes of the head, grimaces, and other body signals. True, the silence had worried him, but the chatter irritated him. However, in the end, he concluded that it was better for the girl to be happy and vocal.

Silwen patiently sat on the sofa, allowing Lucie to braid her waist-length hair. When Lucie had finished, Snape walked into the parlor and examined his niece's appearance. In red robes, blue shoes, and a demure braid, she looked..."Adorable," Lucie had said. "Absurd," is what Severus almost said, but he knew nothing of fashion, preferring simple black robes.

Before they stepped into the fireplace, Severus said to Lucie, "We will be not be too long." He grabbed a handful of Floopowder, in one hand and Silwen's hand the other. "Diagon Alley!" he shouted, enunciating every letter. Arriving inside Flourish and Blott's, he ordered, "Stay close to me."

Delighted to be shopping at Diagon Alley, Silwen craned her neck as far it could go in every direction, even at the cobblestones; they were old and threatened to trip her every step with mischievous grooves in between them. In Gringotts, however, she reverted to her shy self, quiet and scared, clutching at her uncle's protective hand around hers. In the cart, she attempted to scramble on his lap, to which Severus firmly refused, securing her in her seat.

Ollivander's shop brought out her excitement once more as she gazed at the boxes and boxes of wands._ Can one really be for me?_ she thought, still looking around in awe.

"Good morning, Mr. Snape! This is your niece, I see? Very sweet little thing," said a smiling Mr. Ollivander entering from behind a large shelf and waving them to the desk.

Silwen grew quiet as Ollivander measured her left arm, hand, elbow, and full-body height, her eyes bright and curious.

"A little privacy, Mr. Ollivander, if you please?" asked Snape curtly.

"Of course!" said Ollivander, flicking his wand at the curtains to close them. "So, shall we begin then? ... I've never had such a young one come in before," he murmured, looking at Silwen curiously, noting the intelligence in her eyes, just as Snape had mentioned a month ago. Snape wanted to make sure that Ollivander would sell Silwen a wand, to which he replied that he would try to. Ollivander did not know if a wand would choose someone so young. "Well, we shall see today," he whispered to himself as he started taking out boxes.

Ecstatic, Silwen opened box after box, swishing, shwooshing wand after wand and making objects fly, explode, jig, or wave good morning. She was happy to know that for once, she was not going to be yelled at for breaking things. She looked at her uncle's consternating stare and grinned. The piles of boxes grew, eventually towering over her small stature; Silwen was very small for her age, measuring only 30 inches (73 cm).

"Let's try Willow wood," muttered Ollivander, slightly worried that no wand would choose someone so young, and yet also amused at the child's exuberance. It had been a long time since his grandchildren had run through the shop, playing with wands and destroying everything in their paths._ I miss the commotion_, he thought, bring out several boxes. "Start with unicorn hair, 11.5in, whippy."

Daintly, she held it, and waved it at a statue which promptly started to serenade them. Silwen laughed until Snape flicked his wand at it and stopped the statue mid-word.

"Perhaps not," said Ollivander. "Here, try this one." Again, Ollivander took it from her, unsatisfied. He gave her a new one, "12 inches, unicorn hair, unyeilding."

With great interest, Silwen looked at the wand and smiled at it.

"Pick it up, child."

She held it gently, drawing her name, feeling a soft glow inside her.

"No, not th-" began Mr. Ollivander, but stopped suddenly, looking at the air in front of him. In beautiful cursive, Silwen's name appeared, shooting little flowers on the "i" and "l." "How does it feel?" he asked.

"It feels like...sunshine inside me, and bubbles," she said, her eyes wide.

"Well! I had almost given up! So, this is the wand that chose you. I expect you to take good care of it, young lady," said Ollivander, wagging a joking finger at Silwen.

"It's mine?" she whispered.

"Yes. Now, Mr. Snape, that will be 15 Galleons, please." Ollivander took the money Snape offered him and waved good bye, opening the curtains up as the Snapes left his shop. _Willow wood...rather uncommon. But maybe she'll do well with it,_ he mused, watching them walk down the street.


	5. Before

**A/N:** "Hello! This is a funny sort of place, isn't it?" (HP, movie #2, Professor Lockheart) So, one of my reviewers requested Draco to confront Silwen about his feelings. Don't worry, that will happen soon! ... But not in this chapter. ... Um, we're back to ''normal'' chapters, ones not stolen from other stories (my own stories, of course, no plagiarism going on here!). It's another one with Uncle Severus, but this time it's at Hogwarts when Silwen is six, in the very beginning of the school year.

I took some creative license in this chapter because it never really says where the staff sleeps. I always imagined that they had like their own small hall with their own bathroom and bedroom and maybe an extra room for storage or something. I'd imagine that Silwen slept in the spare storage room...If they were a House head, then naturally this would all be very near the House Common Room the professor was head of. In Snape's case, his quarters are quite close to the Slytherin Common Room.

* * *

Nightmares in the Castle 1987, September

"Another nightmare, Uncle," whispered a small girl of six, standing in front of the Potionmaster's quarters.

It was 2 a.m., not that he could tell from the windows; they only showed the bottom of the lake. Groaning inwardly, Severus rose and walked out of his bed and over to Silwen. Her eyes were still wet. The nightmares must have been particularly awful tonight. "Why didn't you go to Lucie?"

"Kitchens," she said, looking up at him; he was dressed in a long white sleeping robe made of thick linen.

Letting the girl take his hand in her fingers, he asked softly, "Do you wish to spend the night here, Silwen?"

She nodded and walked inside his room with him, clutching his hand like a life line. Fetching his wand from the night stand, he conjured her pillow, a mat and a thick quilt. He put them on the ground and before he could say anything, Silwen was in between the layers, head on her pillow, fast asleep. Her body was relaxed, gently rising and falling, her eyes peacefully shut, a trace of a smile dancing on her little lips. Kneeling over her for a minute, he watched for any sign of discomfort or fear. Finding none, he went back into his bed, thinking.

It was the sudden bombarding of potions, ingredients, and smells of both that brought up the memories in her dreams. It was said that out of all five (or six, if you were that idiot Trelawney) senses, the sense of smell had the best connection to memories. So until Silwen became accustomed to the smell of potions, the nightmares would reoccur. Nightmares of watching her parents incinerate before her eyes. Or, she once whispered to him, the muggle children incident just after she had acquired her wand. That day, he had left on an errand, thinking Lucie would watch over her while she practiced levitation spells in the garden. (But lunch had started to burn, Lucie had told him after, so she didn't hear the shouts until after she had cleaned up the mess.) To Silwen's shock, a boy watched her, called to his friends, told her to do magic again, and when she wouldn't do it they had surrounded her, kicking, biting, pulling her hair, hitting her black and blue until she was barely conscious. ... Snape shook his head. If he hadn't come home when he did and found the children there, erased the entire memory from their heads, he didn't know if Silwen would be alive today.

Once more, his eyes flicked over to the child on the floor, sleeping soundly, a thumb in her mouth. She was safe here. She was safe with him. His eyes softened slightly as he watched her turn to her side. For the rest of her life, he'd make sure that she was safe. Or at least moderately. He despised Hover Charm parents that never left their child alone, barely even to use the loo. He would _never_ become one of those.

"I love you, Uncle Severus," murmured Silwen in her sleep, turning over again.

He hadn't been able to protect Lilly. But he'd protect his niece until his dying breath, a girl who seemed to have inherited Lilly's eyes to exactness. He...loved the small shape lying on the floor, he realized. He, who thought he'd never be able to love again. A microscopic wetness wedged out of Snape's eye and instantly he brushed it away and went back to sleep, dreaming of a girl with red hair with green eyes...


	6. Denial and Acceptance

"Put. It. _ON_." ordered Severus, holding a black gown in his hands, glaring at his crying niece.

"NO! NO! NO! NO!" shouted Silwen, turning around and running under her bed. "I want my mummyyyyy! I don't want YOU!" she shrieked from the tiny space, backing up to the wall. She wouldn't go to a funeral. Her parents weren't dead. They were just...somewhere. "I d-d-don't w-want YOU! Go away!"

"Your mother is dead," snapped her uncle, his feet standing in front of her bed like two scary-looking...things. "Silwen, we are going to say good-bye to her and your father. Put the dress on or you won't have any more bread for a month," he said, throwing the dress on the bed.

She watched as his feet left, heard the door slam and him say, "Lucie, get her dressed in five minutes."

Hesitantly, Lucie opened the door and crawled under the bed. "Miss, you must get out. Please. Lucie will give you three pieces of bread if you do," coaxed Lucie, reaching for Silwen.

"NO!" screamed Silwen, still crying. "I-I w-ant Mummyyyyyy!"

Gently, Lucie took Silwen's hands and softly pulled her out from under the bed, ignoring the kicks, cries, and screams of her young charge. She held Silwen's arms up, undressed her—despite Silwen's struggles, scratches and bites—and put the funeral dress over Silwen's head, blotchy from crying. Once the dress came over and was smoothed out, Silwen stood still, hiccoughing.

"Where is Mummy? And Dad? I want..." started Silwen, not finishing her sentence, looking desperately at Lucie as if Lucie could take her to Priscilla and Timothy Snape. Tears welled in her eyes, making Lucie turn away, wiping her own face with her rag of clothing.

"I can't, Miss. I'm so sorry. ... Come, let's get you to your Uncle," said Lucie, taking Silwen's hand in hers and holding it softly.

Silwen allowed herself to be led outside and to her uncle. "Goodbye forever?" she asked at him, her viridian eyes looking at him unfaltering, forgetting that she had been yelling at him only a few minutes before.

Curtly, Snape nodded, took her hand and Disapparated to a Eden's Crest Cemetary where Albus Dumbledore in stately robes of black with a matching hat, stood solemnly, waiting for the Snape family to arrive. Already, guests had started to come, circling around a tombstone. The explosion had destroyed the bodies, leaving nothing to bury. Not even ashes.

Snape went over to Dumbledore, leaving Silwen with a family acquaintaince, and began talking to him in a low voice, cracking once when he glanced over at Silwen.

Eyes fixed on the tombstone, she looked at the woman in black holding her hand and asked, "What's that?" her finger pointing at the tombstone.

"T-that's, th-that's your parents' tombstone, darling," the stranger replied, sobbing.

"Now that everyone is here I shall start," began Dumbledore in an gentle yet authoritative voice. "Timothy and Priscilla Snape..." But that was all the got through before Silwen started sobbing uncontrollably ("No! Muuuuummyyyyyy! Dadyyyyy! I want! Mummyyy, nooo!") when she realized that her parents weren't...coming back. Unfazed, Dumbledore stopped, picked the crying child up and held her, bobbing her softly in his arms, lulling her to sleep. "Timothy and Priscilla Snape were born on September 1st 1961 and August 5th 1962..." With Silwen lulled into a tepid slumber, Dumbledore finished his speech, waved his wand on the tombstone and then informed everyone that now they could pay any final respects, any last goodbyes.

Stoically, Snape stood silently opposite from Dumbledore, shaking hands frigidly with the funeral attendees, staring through them and mechanically responding to their questions. Soon, though, the crowd left. "Dumbledore, it's time she and I left," said Severus, reaching for Silwen.

"Not quite yet, Severus," said Dumbledore, waking Silwen up. "Silwen, come say goodbye. Come touch your hand by their names," whispered Dumbledore in her ear, setting Silwen on her unsteady feet. Silently, Silwen tottered over and pressed her whole hand against the black marble stone and kissed her mother's name. When she took her hand off, a small hand-print and lip imprint appeared on the obsidian. Softly, Snape flicked his wand at the stone, making sure the small memorial was eternally indestructible and immovable.

He then picked Silwen up, who had fallen asleep, whispering, "I love you, Mummy and Daddy...and Uncle Snape." A small drop dropped on Silwen's white lace collar as Severus bid farewell to Dumbledore, who in turn clasped Snape's shoulder, and Disapparated to his home on Spinner's End.

A single tear for his brother and wife. That was all he could bare to show, keeping everything else locked up inside him like he did with every other pain. Every other loss. Severus looked down at the child sleeping fitfully in his arms. One week ago, he had promised himself he wouldn't grow...attatched to her. Now, inspecting her swollen eyelids, he realized that that vow was broken. He held her a little nearer to him and carried her to her room, carefully placing her in her bed, under the covers and blanket. For a moment, he grasped her small, smooth, fragile hand and held it, for a moment he smiled and then let go, walked out of the room and began to plan his lessons for the upcoming school year. He would protect Silwen. She, at least, would not die while he lived still. Even if it cost him his life. He _would_ protect her.


	7. Truth Will Out 18 part 1

October 5th, 1995—A week after Silwen's meeting with Dumbledore

* * *

"I _trusted_ you!" accused Silwen, tears growing in her viridian eyes, the salt stinging her sensitive nerves, filled with hurt.

"Trusted me how? Trusted me to tell you everything?" spat Severus, his eyes narrowed into slits as he glared at Silwen across his desk.

"Everything pertaining to _me_, Uncle!" cried Silwen angrily, rising from her chair, making it screech indignantly across the cold stone floor. "Nothing about the Order, not a word about the Dark Lord's plans!" she snapped, her tears spilling over her eyelids, and splashing hatefully onto the desk in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she sat back down, pulling her chair under her. "Why? Why d-didn't you? I-I" she demanded softly, her voice cracking.

"My brother thought to _protect_ you by hiding your secret from yourself!" he hissed, yanking open a drawer, and started looking for something, and continued to speak. "It was his and your mother's _foolishly naive_ belief that you would be 'happier' if you were kept uninformed. I bound to secrecy you until you reached the age of sixteen unless circumstances provided enough reason to tell you sooner." He paused, found what he was looking for and slammed it on the desk, making it rattle in irritation against the smooth limestone. "Had the Dark Lord not risen, I would _not_ have been I would have been forced to wait until you turned sixteen," responded her uncle, glaring at his desk, shoving a piece of pristine, ageless parchment at her. Her parents' will. Even now, she could feel the faint tingle of the enchantment that bound those included on it to adhere to her parents' requests.

A small, taught silence stretched as Silwen read the will like a lawyer looked at the Ministry law manuals. Finally, the silence snapped when Silwen asked quietly, "And if I had been your daughter? Would you have told me sooner?" In her eyes shone only a burning desire to hear her uncle's response.

Another silence grew and grew, the pressure rising until Severus replied in a biting tone, "You are not my daughter, Silwen."

Instantly, Silwen leapt from her chair, the chair crashing to the floor, and sobbing ran out of the office. Her feet carried her through abandoned corridors, up several staircases, and shoved her though the Great Hall to the outside. She didn't hear the many angry cries of "Oi, watch it, _Snape_," and "Shove off," too desolate and focused on her destination—the lake.

Tears coursed down her cheeks as she collapsed in the shade of an dark brown wizened oak tree on the lake's shore. Hugging her knees to her chest, she cried, letting out every sentiment of betrayal, the heart-wrenching pain of rejection, and all the built up loneliness from constantly being kept in the dark while her uncle traveled to and from Spinner's End all Summer long, leaving her alone with Lucie for weeks at a time. Rocking back and forth, her robes sullying in the damp dirt, Silwen stayed there until well past dinner was over, not caring if she was caught outside of the school. She didn't care anymore. Not if her uncle didn't care about her.

"'_You aren't my daughter_,"' reverberated around her mind again and again, tearing her heart open, pushing new pools of tears out of her eyes, making them go red and her cheeks crimson and blotchy. "H-he d-doesn't e-evn love me," she cried out into the apathetic night.

The night's temperature dropped and finally, Silwen forced herself to rise, preform a cleaning spell, and knock on the castle's doors. A leering Filch opened the door, taking her directly to Professor Umbridge's office, plastered in pink and pictures of cats meowing off of ceramic dishes hung on the wall.

"Miss _Snape_ out of bed? You? A Slytherin prefect and the head's niece?" said Umbridge in her vomitingly sweet voice, handing her a note, tsking with a smile. "Well, well, well, dear, you will still have to be punished like a naughty child," she chided softly. "Let's see now...How about a week's worth of writing lines?"

Hardly listening, Silwen nodded, took her slip and put it in her pocket.

"Good night, Miss Snape," said Umbridge kindly as Silwen walked out of the office around the school—she might as well get her prefect rounds done now—and down to the Slytherin Common Room. Silently, she mumbled the password ("_toujours pur_"), and stepped inside. On a sofa facing the other way was an angular head of pale blond hair, short and sleek.

"We have rounds to do," the head said, still facing the oppositely to her.

"A-already finished," snapped Silwen. In a more controlled voice, she said, "I did them c-coming back h-here...Sorry to make you wait."

Suddenly, the head rose, followed by the body and walked across the glossy tiled floor reflecting the lake's ripples from the windows. His robes flowing around him, the boy stopped a foot away from her, scrutinizing Silwen's face, noticing the parched red eyes, ruddy cheeks crusted with salt, and the small tremors that escaped from her exhausted chest. Draco held out his arms and Silwen wrapped herself in them, holding Draco to her.

"You knew," she whispered. "You knew about my-my secret, Draco—_don't lie to me_."

"Ever since our first year," muttered Draco. "That was how I bullied your essay answers out of you."

"I forgive_ you_," murmured Silwen, her voice muffled by Draco's thick, green robes, trimmed in velvet. Soft. Warm. Comforting.

"Who don't you forgive, Sil?" whispered Draco, stroking the back of her head with his thumb.

"_Him_. He lied to me for twelve _years_."

Draco's arms tightened around Silwen, holding her close as he felt her start to cry again. "Shh...I think you should get some sleep, Sil." He felt her nod, and gently, he broke apart from her, holding only her hand as he guided her up to her dorm. "Your uncle really does love you, you know," said Draco, his fingers clasping hers with more energy for a moment before letting to.

"I-I know..." she replied, watching Draco descend the steps and into his own dorms, casting one last glance up at her. Simultaneously, they entered their separate dorms, brushed their teeth and went to bed.


	8. Thawing Pride like Icebergs 18 prt 2

(Continuation from last chapter)

The next day, Silwen felt quite relieved when Draco reminded her they did not have potions in the afternoon. Gratefully, she and him walked through their day peacefully, if not for minor misshaps in Transfiguration (Seamus had blown up the cup he was supposed to be Vanishing, much to McGonagall's irritation). When classes were over, Silwen and Draco made their way down to the lakeside and plopped down, their shoes nearly touching the water lapping at the sandbanks.

Then, suddenly remembering her...advanced potions class, she jolted to her feet. "Sorry, Draco, I'll meet you in the Common Room!" she called, running back to the castle.

Breathing deeply, she entered the potions room. And for the first time, she realized why Gryffindors thought it was a dungeon. Cold, severe, and dark, much like the Potionsmaster himself.

"Good evening, Professor," said Silwen tonelessly, taking her customary seat in the desk closest to Snape's classroom table.

"The instructions are on the board. You know where to find the ingredients," replied her uncle, grading papers at his desk in the classroom, not even looking up to greet her.

"Felix Felicis-Liquid Luck, Length: six months" read the potion title, with the first few instructions and ingredients on the board. Silently, she stood up and went to the classroom's ingredient closet, grabbing the required ingredients.

In an angry silence, she completed what was written in the hour and a half, the silence atmosphere slowly colder with the room's temperature. The clock chimed nine-thirty, informing Silwen that it was time to start putting things away.

"Put the cauldron in my office until your next lesson," snapped Snape, refusing to look up as she magicked the caudron in the office, levitated her obsidian knives, white-marble mortar, and cedar-wood chopping board away in the back closet's hidden compartment. Cleaning finished, she rose out of her seat, stalked out of the room without another word, and walked down long hallways and into the Slytherin Common Room.

"I don't want to talk. I'll see you in the morning," she said at Draco, giving him a short embrace on the cheek as he stood to meet her, his gray eyes tight with worry. He nodded and watched as she ascended to her dorm and walked down to his own, thinking about her.

...

During the following weeks, Silwen grew more and more quiet, her expression constantly hardening as she and her uncle ignored one another as much as possible. Their morning breakfasts stopped, his praising of her potions during regular classes ceased, and soon, all that they shared was their hair color.

Draco could see the pain in her eyes, even though she hid it perfectly in Potions. And during those weeks, he asked her why she couldn't let it go, only to receive a scathing, "I. Want. _His_. Apology_._ First." That led to him simply wrapping his arms around her and holding her close, pretending not to notice the occasional quiet tear.

...

A month and a night later, Silwen stepped into the empty classroom, skimmed over the ingredients on the board, got her things and began the slowly thickening potion. When she looked momentarily up at the board to check the ingredients in between steps, she froze. The next ingredient needed was unicorn hair and that was in her uncle's private storeroom. She'd have to ask him. She'd have to _say_ something. And Silwen was scared, scared of what she'd say once she began.

However, before she could finally swallow her pride, and open her mouth, Severus stood up and walked over to her, a thin, silver hair gleaming in the light from the classroom's high , barred windows in his hand. "Here."

She looked up at him for the first time in four weeks, her frigid attitude shattering instantly. Hesitantly, she whispered in a cracking voice, "_Thank you_, Uncle Snape."

Thawing silence filled the room, and melted completely when he replied softly, walking to the board and adding another last ingredient. Without turning around he muttered after a short pause, "You aren't my daughter, but you _are_ my niece."

Wiping her tears away, she walked behind him, took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. "I know, Uncle Severus," she said simply, her voice wavering. Softly, his hand squeezed hers back for a few seconds.

Silwen returned to her desk. In a warm, companionable quiet, she finished the steps of that night's assignment, cleaned up, and whispering as she left, "Good night, Uncle Severus. I-I'm sorry I didn't trust you."

"Good night, Silwen," she heard as she closed the door, smiling all the way back to her dorms, wiping away a tear or two.


	9. Conversations with Eilonwy Tonks (Yr 6)

"I don't see why you're constantly irritating either me, Draco, your sister Nymphadora, or Lupin. Eilonwy, can't you ever not annoy someone?" spat Silwen, angrily sitting down on a library bench.

"Noooo, because you're too funny, Draco gets mad which is funny, my sister storms off which is funny and Reemsy simply gets flustered and uncomfortable which is also funny!" replied Eilonwy, grinning and jumping up and down for apparently no reason other than to emphasize her point.

Sighing, Silwen stood up and looked at the tree behind them. She put her arms up, grabbed onto a thick branch, low enough for her to easily reach and pulled herself into the tree, immediately surrounded by green leaves brushing against her skin. Reaching up again, she climbed higher and higher to the thinnest of branches that would still support her. Satisfied, she looked down, watching Eilonwy scale the tree faster than she could blink.

"YOU are climbing a tree?" Eilonwy asked, shock written across her face and mouth opened in a long oval.

"Yes...I have been known to do this, you know," replied Silwen, grinning. "It helps me calm down. Somehow, things feel better up here than on the ground", she said swinging her feet in the air.

"But you have clothes on! Robes! And a dress!" objected Eilonwy, her hair turning from pink to light purple.

"You were irritating me."

"Don't I always though? Isn't that why you love me, Silly?" demanded Eilonwy, leaning over and almost falling out of the tree.

"Yes you do, and no that's not why. You're my best friend because...I simply like _you_. You're amusing, entertaining, and you are the only one who calls me a liar."

"Oooooohhh, you're soooo cuuuute, Sillykins!...'Sillykins.' Draco doesn't call you that, does he? If he does, I'm going to punch him in the face."

Blanching, Silwen froze for a moment, nearly losing her balance. "NO! H-he doesn't call me that. Don't punch him!" she cried. Eilonwy would do it. Silwen had seen her punch Draco before; punching Draco was a recent habit Eilonwy had developed. "You just punched him yesterday, Eilonwy. Give him a few more days to recover."

"Fiiiine," said Eilonwy in a whine. "But who else am I going to puuuuuuuunch? ... Can I punch your uncle?"

"You can punch anyone else, Eilonwy. You have the physical capabilities of doing so. ... So, erm...yes, you can punch my uncle, but I'd rather you didn't. He's in a nasty mood today. A first year accidentally set his cauldron on fire again..."

"But nasty moods are the best time to punch people in the face!" objected Eilonwy, pouting, her hair turning blue and eyes drooping.

"What if you punched Percy in the face? He's visiting Ginny right now up in your Common Room..." said Silwen vaguely.

"NO! I want to punch Draco," whined Eilonwy.

"Sorry, I won't let you," replied Silwen, smothering a small snort.

"WHY?"

"I already told you. He's still wounded. You can punch his father if you wish. Or Remus?"

"Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiineeeee ," moaned Eilonwy, nodding her head. "Your precious Draykins shall wait."

"Thank you, Eilonwy," said Silwen quietly, carefully climbing over to her friend and giving her a hug.


	10. Meeting Eilonwy

April 22nd 1986

"Come, Silwen. We are leaving," said her uncle, beginning to walk to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Yes, Un-" began Silwen, suddenly interrupted by a girl her size and age tripping onto her and making both of them falling on the ground.

"You're wearing green," said the girl, her eyes wide, finger jabbing Silwen's nose. A moment later, the child lowered her finger, but examined Silwen closely when Silwen responded to her statement.

"Your hair is red," replied Silwen, eyes wider.

"I can make it change color. Can you make your eyes change color?" she asked solemnly.

"No. Can you?" whispered Silwen curious.

The girl nodded emphatically and suddenly her eyes were five different colors, twinkling at Silwen's open-mouthed amazement. "I'm Eilonwy Tonks!" the girl said, stoutly proffering her hand to Silwen.

Timidly, Silwen took her hand, gulping when Eilonwy shook it vigorously, yanking almost Silwen's entire body up and down several times before stopping.

"I have an older...Pygmy Puff! Her name is Nymphadora and she rolls around a lot," stated Eilonwy matter-of-factly. "How old are you?"

"Five. How old are you?"

"Five."

"What's your favorite color?" demanded the girl, eyeing Silwen suspiciously through narrowed eyes.

"G-green. And y-yellow."

"Green is an evil color!" gasped Eilonwy, taking a step back and holding up her hands. Rushing back, she whispered in a loud voice, "But yellow is a good color."

Affronted, Silwen took several steps backward, bumping into her uncle.

"Next time you wish to tell me something, ask. It is time to leave. Grab my hand," snapped Snape glancing at his niece. He offered her his hand and when she took it, waved goodbye at Narcissa Malfoy (whom he had been conversing with) while Silwen waved at Eilonwy and Disapparated back home.

"Who was the girl?" he asked, striding through the doorstep.

"Eilonwy Tonks," replied Silwen, running outside to climb the tree without waiting for permission.

"Tonks...If she is anything like her older sister, I will personally see to it that Silwen does not become friends with the girl," he muttered, watching Silwen hang upside down from a tall branch, giggling in delight. "We shall see..."


	11. Reunion

Author's note: I don't know how I feel about this...It feels awkward... This little thing head hops, violates grammar procedures, but it is another chapter. ... So, this is completely random. I don't know when/where this is. I don't know exactly why it happened. It simply exists. Draco and Silwen are going by their middle names in the beginning. His middle name is Abraxas, hers is Astoria. PM/leave a review if it's still confusing and tell me why. Thank you! Enoy! :D

* * *

"_Abraxas!_" shrieked Astoria, leaping at his open arms.

"OOF!" _Thud_. He caught her, but misjudged her speed and, taken off-guard, fell onto the still-green grass, Astoria on top of him. "I thought I'd never see you again."

Her arms wrapped tightly around his torso and smothered she him in kisses while Abraxas' arms looped around her, pressing her against him. After a minute, she stopped covering him in lipstick and curled up in his chest. "I'd never do that to you. I promised you I wouldn't."

Re-positioning himself, he sat up, his arms around her waist as she rested, leaning against him. Abraxas raised one hand and stroked her obsidian hair, as gentle as the wind whispering around them. "I love you."

A tear leaked out of Astoria's eye and onto her fiancé's chest. "That's what my uncle said the last time I saw him alive." She pulled away for an instant.

"You came back, Story. You-you're here now, the war over."

Comforted, she lay against him again, feeling the soft rise and fall of his chest. In his arms, almost everything else melted away. Breathing in, Astoria welcomed his clove and nutmeg scent inside her nose. _I didn't know I missed it that much._

"Don't ever leave me again. Please."

In response, Astoria entwined her arms around his neck, hands pushing at his nape, drawing his head down. His bride tilted her head up and met his lips, pressing her body against his. Abraxas laid down, his hands tracing her sides. Rolling over so he was on top, he kissed her, putting in it all of the loneliness he had felt, the pain of separation, and the anticipation of her return. Too soon, he pulled himself away for a moment and looked at her, grinning at her unusual forwardness. Usually, he began the kisses…

"I missed you," she explained in a murmur, her breath tickling his ear, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. "Six months is a long time…" Astoria's arms tugged around his neck, and he obliged, his lips touching hers. Slowly, her smooth hands removed his thick crimson robe, discovering his firm biceps, traveling to his chest. She marveled at his well-etched pectorals, and moved to his head, enlacing her hands in his thick, white-blond silky hair. She shivered delightedly as his hands meandered up and down her back, ending up entangling themselves in her hair.

They rolled to the side and broke apart, both out of breath, Abraxas smirking slightly at the blush rising on his fiancée's cheeks. "Six months certainly is, dearest. But perhaps it was worth that kiss?" His smirk turned into a smile as Astoria nodded, turning so they faced the same direction and lay in his arms. "Why did you leave?"

"I wanted to help…It was the least I could do for the people who saved my life. I owed it to the Order of the Phoenix to help them..."

"But you could have died! Don't you care about how I would feel if…if you…" Abraxas said, his voice breaking. "I thought I'd never be able to apologize…"

"Draco Abraxas. Don't you know? Didn't you know through my letters? I forgave you the first month I got there. I love you. I always will. No matter the idiotic things that happen."

"…I've been such an idiot."

"No darling. Just in love."

The young man looked at Astoria, marveling at the subtle forgiveness glinting in her eyes, underneath the loving look she gave him. True, it had only been a misunderstanding between which bracelet he had given her and which one her uncle had bequeathed, but the look of anger Abraxas shot at her when his fiancée refused to admit he was right (which he wasn't)…Astoria's hurt face still scarred him; it was the last time they saw each other before she joined the Order of the Phoenix as a healer. If she had died…No. She's alive and that's what matters. And…she loves _me_.


	12. Denial and Acceptance Part 2

Author's Notes:

This takes place sometime around two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, so May 20th 1998 or so.

Hi! Yeah, this is a depressing chapter. Not much fluff. Please cry. I did writing it. Anyway, I just want to say that I don't own any characters but Lucie and Silwen and Mockingjay1199 owns Eilonwy Tonks and Regina Spektor owns the words Silwen says to her uncle's grave. I quote "The Call," from the Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian.

* * *

"Black dress robes, black socks, and his usual shoes. Arms at his side, wand?"

"I'm keeping it. It's never going to be buried."

The funeral planner looked at her confused for a moment then nodded. "Yes, Miss Snape. Of course it won't. Now, let's look at my check list. Coffin check, funeral time and date check, guests invited, check." He continued on, relieved to finally be finished. Severus Snape's funeral had been one he didn't really want to prepare, but the girl was so insistent and he eventually complied when the Malfoy family promised to cover the expenses. "Everything seems in order." With a bow, he excused himself and left the small cottage in the middle of nowhere.

Sighing, she lay on a chair and allowed a few tears to slip down her face. Only a few. Her uncle wouldn't have wanted her crying on the sofa; the tears would stain the leather and the sofa was his preferred thing to sit on out of all the furniture in the house.

_Knock, knock. _

"Lucie will get the door, Mistress! Sit up properly." Lucie ran to the door and opened it.

"Er, is Silwen here?" came a vaguely familiar voice.

"Yes, Harry Potter, follow Lucie inside please."

Silwen stood up and brushed off her tears before Harry could see them. "Harry, what are you doing here?"

Awkwardly, Harry started to say something then stopped and began again with more confidence. "I want to speak at the funeral."

"Why?"

"Personal reasons. I won't say anything rude, I promise."

She stared at him for a moment then said tonelessly, "All right."

"Thank you."

"Would Harry Potter like to stay for tea?"

"Er, no thanks, I only came to ask about speaking."

"Right. Er, I will see you at the funeral then." Silwen walked him to the door and bid him goodbye. Once Harry had left, she returned to the couch and reviewed her own speech. She hoped it wasn't too boring. Eilonwy had said it was, but only because she and heffalumps and bright colors weren't mentioned. Silwen grinned. Eilonwy kept her spirits up without even trying.

"Lucie, is my speech all right?"

Lucie nodded. "Mistress' speech is perfect. Mistress doesn't need to worry about her speech."

"Thank you for saying that."

The elf inclined her head and went into the kitchen, leaving Silwen alone with her thoughts again. Soon, the they began to weigh on her and exhausted, Silwen closed her eyes and slept, using Uncle Snape's cloak as a blanket. It still smelled like him.

_**...**_

Afternoon rays two days later rays surged through the living room's window the, feeling like blinding daggers in her eyes and woke her from her nap.

"Mistress needs to get up and get ready for the funeral now," whispered Lucie, shaking her awake.

"Lucie, I don't want to. Can't I just stay here and bury him without a crowd to watch me cry?"

"_Mistress_!" The little elf's hands poked Silwen till she stood up and was lead into the bathroom. "Mistress has one hour to get ready then she and Lucie need to go to Godric's Hollow."

Mechanically, Silwen took a shower, dried herself off, got dressed in a suitable black mourning robes that Narcissa had given her, applied a touch of make-up, did her hair in a simple style that only got her bangs out of her face and stepped out of the bathroom.

"You are ready but need to eat." Lucie held out a piece of toast with an egg on top.

"I-I'm not hungry, thank you."

"Mistress will eat or she will faint when speaking!"

"Fine." Silwen snatched the meal out of Lucie's hands, ate it quickly and held out a clean hand for Lucie to take hold of. "Please, Lucie, take us there."

Lucie nodded.

_CRACK._

Godric's Hollow appeared before their eyes, tombstone and empty grave waiting for their coffin at their feet. Silwen's knees felt weak. She couldn't do this. She couldn't bury her uncle. Couldn't say goodbye and let him lie underground for...forever. Even if it was right beside the Potter's grave. Right as her knees started to buckle and her eyes fill with tears, a pair of arms wrapped around Silwen's waist.

"You can do it, Sil."

Slowly, Silwen turned around and hugged the arms' owner-Draco. "Don't you dare leave me for a moment."

"Promise." He stepped away from her and looked at her. "It's almost over."

Within the next few minutes, broomsticks landed, cracking sounds echoed through the cemetery and whispering people started to form a crowd around the empty grave.

"Everyone is here," Lucius told her when the last of the arrivals had flown in. "Shall I begin?"

She nodded nervously and Lucius stepped on a small platform beside the tombstone. As Lucius told everyone the schedule, Silwen stared straight in front of her, feeling as empty as her uncle's grave.

When Lucius got off, a famous speaker-the same one who spoke at Dumbledore's funeral to be exact-stepped onto the stage and droned on and on, giving nearly the same speech he had given at Dumbledore's funeral. Silwen didn't hear a word of it and all too soon, he stepped down and she had to step up.

No. She couldn't say good bye. He couldn't go and leave her. If she said goodbye it meant he really had passed on. Her feet planted themselves there. If she didn't talk, she wouldn't say goodbye and he would be there the next morning, knocking on her door and telling her to get ready to learn a new spell.

From behind, Draco gave her a small push and suddenly she was walking onto the platform. Silwen brought out a tear-stained parchment and stared at the crowd. She hardly knew a fifth of the people in it and liked even less. They were all hypocrites. Hated him then decided he wasn't so evil and appeared for his funeral to prove to themselves that they had put their feelings behind them and wanted to wish him goodbye.

She cleared her throat. "Severus Snape wasn't only a Slytherin or a faithful member to the Order of the Pheonix, or only a-a prejudiced potions master, h-he was and forever will be my uncle. You may know him as one of these other titles, but I knew him simply as Uncle. The man who taught me how to tell what shade of turquoise was needed in a Shrinking Potion, who drilled into me countless spells during others' lazy summer vacation. Who when I was younger bounced me on his lap and promised to take care of me. Over these past few weeks, I-I've come to realize that what he really wanted me to learn was how t-to stand on my own feet, which is what I'm doing now. Thank you, Uncle. F-for everything." Her eyes filled with so much wet that the stairs blended together and she had stumbled down them, gripping Draco's hand so she didn't fall.

More people spoke. She didn't listen. Couldn't listen, crying silently on Draco's shoulder, not caring if the guests thought she was acting like a child.

Then Harry got up to give the final remarks before Uncle Severus' coffin was lain in the grave and Silwen listened to his words. Every single one, somehow stopping her sobs.

"Severus Snape and I hated each other for seven years. But I'm alive because of him. He was Dumbledore's most loyal servant, and I misjudged him. He might have been an awful potions teacher, but he was the bravest man I've ever known."

Silence.

As Harry walked down the steps, Silwen looked at him and whispered a heart-felt, "Thank you." Uncle Severus would have liked Harry's speech. Possibly.

The platform disappeared and the ebony coffin was slowly lowered in, dirt and sod piled over it with some famous flute player preforming some sort of funeral march and finally, finally it was over.

Numberless, faceless people hugged her and told her how sorry they were, said that they always knew Snape would never truly be so evil, and left. Most of them. Hogwarts Professors were kinder; they shook her hand and told her she was still expected to do their class' summer homework.

Eilonwy stood stoic by her side, making faces at Draco who eventually went to talk to the guests and show them to the refreshments stand.

"Let's go on an adventure tomorrow!" whispered Eilonwy when the last of the guests had been shown away.

Hugging her best friend, Silwen nodded. "T-thanks. W-wake me up early, okay?"

"OKAY!" Eilonwy said and ran to catch up with her parents.

The Tonkses were the only people who could possibly know what Silwen was going through; Nymphadora and Remus-an adopted Tonks according to Eilonwy-who had really small feet-had died. Eilonwy and Silwen both needed that adventure deeply. Perhaps even a picnic in the mix as well.

Draco and his parents left soon after that, telling her that she was welcome anytime at their manor.

"Mistress, we should go too."

"No. I want to do something first." She walked over to her uncle's tomb stone and cried and hit and screamed and finally lay still in front of it. "N-no need to say goodbye. Y-you'll come back when I c-call you." Not caring about the dirt on her dress, she took out her uncle's wand and laid it on top of Uncle's rectangular tombstone. Silwen cast a spell on it and suddenly it disappeared and reappeared just below his name, forever enclosed in a slab of a stone charmed to be invincible and immovable for eternity.

She conjured up a single blooming lily flower and laid that on top as well. It stayed there without sinking. But it too would remain like that for eternity. "I love you, Uncle." With those last words, Silwen walked away and took Lucie's hand. "I-I can go home now."

CRACK.

"Mistress should sleep." And not taking no for an answer, Lucie switched Silwen's dress for pajamas, pushed her into her bed and threw Uncle Snape's cloak over the blankets.

"Sleep, Mistress."

Obediently, Silwen closed her eyes, tugged on the cloak and hours later, slept, dreaming of her first lesson of magic.


	13. Year Seven

"Who was the idiot who stuck dung bombs in my sister's and my office this week?"

The hall was silent.

"I'm waiting. Either the miscreant stand up now or the entire student body will receive the Cruciatus curse for three seconds each. "

Everyone avoided looking at Dennis Creevey, sitting at the Gryffindor table. Especially Silwen. It was common knowledge among most of the students who had planted the dung bomb in the Carrows' office. Some idiot dared Collin to but Dennis did instead to protect his brother. Silwen had never understood Gryffindor pride and rebellion. Keep your head down and do as you are told if you don't want to get punished. But Dennis was only a third year.

Silwen stood up, trembling with the effort to form her words._ I probably look terrified. Good._ "I did it."

The professor stared. "You?"

She nodded, looking fixedly at the ground, avoiding everyone's eyes-especially her uncle's._ I can't look at him._

"Well, well, well, this is interesting. What do you suggest, Headmaster?"

"Light punishment. She is a Slytherin after all," Uncle Snape drawled, staring at her. Somehow, his expressionless face held more anger and pain then Dumbledore's when he was angry.

"Of course, Sir." Carrow glared at her, triumphant. "Snape, come up here please and answer something for me."

Trembling now with genuine fear, she walked up to Professor Carrow.

"Did you plant all of the dung bombs in my office?"

"N-no."

"Good girl. Then there is no need to kill you. Do you know who did?"

"Students did, Professor."

Snape's eyes flashed, warning her.

Glaring, Professor Carrow pulled out his wand. " 'Students' did? Really? I didn't know." He thrust out a hand and gripped her forarm, yanking her down to her knees. "Cloak off, smart mouth."

She kept her eyes on the stone floor as the cloak slipped from her shoulders.

"Kneel. Sweater as well."

Silwen knelt down, taking her sweater off and revealing a thin silver shirt underneath. The morning room was cold. The elves hadn't started heating it up for the winter yet. She hoped that no one minded or noticed the chill; elves got punished if things in the castle weren't perfect.

With a sadistic grin, Carrow pulled out a long, whip, barbed at the end. "Ten lashings for the dung bomb and ten more because of your fresh answer."

He brought the whip down on her back, the tail flicking away part of the shirt's fabric and skin.

A scream erupted inside her, but Silwen clapped her hands over her mouth and kept it inside.

"Oh no, we want to hear what you have to say." Professor Carrow flicked his wand at her wrists and bound them with a cord." Again, he brought the whip down on her.

She screamed, closing her eyes to avoid looking at the blood dying her shirt.

Eight more times. Never before had Silwen thought that death might be better than when the tenth stroke came down.

"And since I know you are actually covering for someone I will punish you extra for lying to me." He pointed her wand at her and shouted, "Crucio!"

Silwen's screams before were nothing compared to the sound she let out now. Every inch of her seemed to scream aloud, not just her mouth, writhing on the floor, desperate to escape the pain.

After fifteen seconds, the professor lifted the curse and barked, "Someone take her so she can bleed somewhere else. I don't want her blood sullying my shoes."

Heels clacking lividly against the stone, McGonagall walked over to Silwen and levitated her out of the room and onto a hospital bed. "Do not," she snapped, "I repeat, do not ever do that again." She called Madam Pomfrey over to the bed, summoning wound cleaning supplies and giving them to the nurse who seemed to have forgotten about bringing supplies with her.

On the bed, Silwen nodded and curled up on her side, whimpering. "C-creevy's younger b-brother would have gotten it instead. I-I couldn't let that happen."

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. However, she did keep the glare in her eyes. "When you know something like this, you are to come to a professor, _not_ handle things yourself!"

"Minerva, that's enough. The girl needs rest and healing."

"Of course, Poppy."

Silwen closed her eyes and listened to the sound of Professor McGonagall's heels click away, taking slow, shallow breaths. She could hardly manage more.

"Lie on your stomach, dear," Madam Pomfrey said, gently helping Silwen to turn over. "There you go." Carefully, she let a few drops of a wound-cleaning solution fall on her back. "That's going to sting."

A hand drew close and poured a bit of a Sleeping Draught into Silwen's mouth. "You'll be all right now."

Silwen nodded, her eyes closing. "I'll take their lashes for them..."


End file.
